Far From Home: Tales of the Dragonborn
by NarwhalBrawler
Summary: My first attempt at a Fanfiction and at writing longer stories. A lowly hunter gets caught up in a thick plot of rebellion, war, love, and most importantly, dragons!
1. Ambush

**Far From Home: Tales of the Dragonborn**

**Chapter 1: Ambush**

Art deftly pulled an arrow from his quiver and knocked it in his bow. The deer stood in the middle of the highway that connected Skyrim to the center of the Empire, Cyrodil. He had hunted this buck from Helgen almost all the way to the border, but it was all about to pay off now. This buck was huge, and he knew he could get a good price for its meat back in Helgen. Ever since the Imperials had set up camp there food had been scarcer than normal.

He pulled the arrow back to his ear, his bow taut. He aimed Just below the deer's shoulder, looking to give the animal a clean, painless death. Just because he was going to kill him doesn't mean he should suffer. He took a deep breath in, held it, and prepared to let loose his arrow…

When suddenly there came shouts from down the highway. They spooked the deer, who took off into the woods just as he let his arrow fly. It flew off into the woods, and he heard a _thunk_ as it hit some tree trunk.

"Great, there goes a week of work." He knew he could chase the deer any further, since he barely had enough supplies to make it back to Helgen. Instead, he decided to go see what caused the commotion that had caused his prize to escape. Bandits had been working these roads as of late, and he worried that they had set on some innocent travellers. Besides, bandits always carried a few septims, and he needed to mitigate his loss.

He threw his pack over his shoulder, and with bow in hand jogged down the highway. The shouts were getting louder now, they were coming from just around the next bend. He thought he could make out what they were saying:

"Protect the Jarl!"

A Jarl? This could be his lucky day! Saving a Jarl's life could net him some serious coin! He broke into a sprint, pulling an arrow from his quiver as he ran. He flew around the bend in the road to find a full-fledged battle on the highway. He instantly recognized the plate mail and color of the Imperial Legion, but more importantly he saw who they were fighting. Their opponents wore the blue tunics of the Stormcloaks, the rebellion who wished Skyrim to secede from the Empire.

He stood there, an arrow knocked into his bow unsure of what to do. He was no lover of the Empire, but helping the Stormcloaks could be a death sentence. He stood there until an Imperial soldier spotted him, pointed and yelled "There's another one!"

Three Imperials broke off of the fight and rushed towards him.

"No! You've got it wrong" he screamed, "I'm not one of them!"

The Imperials either didn't hear him, or didn't care. They continued their charge, so he did the only thing he could, pulled the arrow back to his ear and loosed it at the closest Imperial. He aimed for his exposed knee, looking just to take him out of the fight, not to kill him. He didn't want this to get messier then it had to.

He was just pulling the second arrow out of his quiver, the Imperials having covered about half the original distance between them when out of the woods burst a big boar of a man, carrying an iron greatsword, with his blonde Norse braids trailing behind him. He slammed into the nearest Imperial, flipping him over his shoulder. The soldier fell in a heap, and didn't get up.

The Nord turned to the third Imperial, whose charge was taking him directly to the Nord. The Imperial lifted his shield and continued his charge. The Nord adopted a defensive stance, waiting for the right moment for the Imperial to strike. The Imperial used the momentum of his charge to deliver a swift lunge attack with his steel shortsword, which the Nord deftly sidestepped. As the Imperial's attack carried him past the Nord, the Nord brought his greatsword down on the soldier's head, crushing his helmet and the skull beneath it.

The Nord turned to face Art, standing there with an arrow still knocked in his bow. The rebel laughed a hearty laugh, a smile breaking out on his blood specked face.

"Don't just stand there!" He cried to Art, "There's glory to be had! Sovengarde awaits!"

Suddenly a voice called out over the din of battle, easily heard due to the sheer power of it.

"Stormcloaks! Lay down your swords! I will not allow you to die for me! I surrender!"

The Nord turned to face the battle. The Stormcloaks were all laying their weapons down on the ground and turning to face the man in a bearskin cloak, who towered over the Imperial soldiers surrounding him. Many of them were fleeing, the battle lost. Those who weren't were being beaten and shackled by the Imperials.

The great blonde Nord walked towards the Imperials, greatsword in position, ready to strike. The man in the bearskin cloak saw him approaching, and shook his head slightly, silently ordering him to stand down. The Nord paused, obviously torn between duty and honour. Finally he surrendered to the Imperials who were surrounding him.

As they were shackling the Nord, the soldiers noticed Art standing there, still holding his bow with the arrow knocked into it, loosely at his side.

"There's another one!" One of them yelled, don't let him escape! Two legionaries leveled their bows at him.

"Freeze, in the name of the Empire!" He had no choice but to drop his bow and comply with their orders. He raised his hands above his head and slowly approached the soldiers. As soon as he drew near enough one of them punched him across the face with his gauntleted hand, and he fell to the ground.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was one of the Imperials mutter "Damn Stormcloaks."

Then the world went black.


	2. Introductions and Executions

Chapter 2: Introductions and Executions

When he came to he was on the back of a wagon with three other prisoners sitting around him. The blonde Nord was one of them, his eyes were glued to the road ahead. Art looked around the wagon at the other two prisoners. The first was a scrawny Nord, shivering from the cold and looking very unhappy to be among the members of the cart.

It was the final occupant of the cart that drew Art's eye however. It was the man in the bearskin robe, the on that had ordered the Stormcloaks to stand down. He sat, relaxed, in the back of the cart despite the gag in his mouth.

"He wouldn't have much to say even if he weren't gagged." The blonde Nord had noticed he was awake.

"Really? He could do some apologizing if you ask me," the scrawny Nord spat. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, I could have been halfway to Hammerfell by now!"

"Shut your mouth!" the blonde Nord roared. "You are in the presence of Jarl Ulfric, the true High King of Skyrim!"

"Shut up back there!" The guard at the front of the cart yelled.

"Jarl Ulfric…? If they've captured you, then that means…." The smaller Nord's eyes fell. "Where are they taking us?"

"I couldn't tell you, but Sovengarde awaits."

"Helgen," Art chimed in. The blonde Nord turned his gaze towards him, questioning.

"I mean they'll probably take us to Helgen. It's the Empire's biggest station this close to the border. It's also where I'm from."

"That's good friend, it's good for a man's last thoughts to be of home."

"Last thoughts?" the smaller Nord looked around panicked. "I'm not ready yet!"

"Peace friend." The blonde Nord said soothingly. "Where are you from?"

"Rorikstead, I'm Lokir of Rorikstead."

"Peace Lokir, my name is Ralof of Riverrun." Ralof then turned to face him. "And what's your name friend?"

"I said shut up! We're here" the guard yelled again. All four prisoners turned to face the front of the cart as they rounded the bend, just to see the walls of Helgen coming into sight. As they passed through the main gate, the driver yelled up to a man standing on the walls, dressed in the Legion armor of a General.

"General Tulius sir! Jarl Ulfric and the remaining Stormcloaks for execution!"

"Into the courtyard with them! We will be performing the executions straight away!"

"You hear that Ulfric? You better pray to whatever gods will listen, your time is almost up!" The driver heckled.

"Executions? Surely they won't kill me for just stealing a horse!"

"Don't be so sure Lokir," Ralof responded, "once these Imperials smell blood it's hard to quench their thirst".

Art looked around as they were paraded through Helgen. All around him he saw familiar faces, people he had lived his life with, sold the results of his hunts, and the children that loved to run through the streets. As the Imperials continued down the streets, parents ushered their children inside, closing the doors behind them.

The cart slowly drew to the center of the main square, where a makeshift execution grounds had already been prepared.

"Looks like they were expecting company" Art noted. Ralof muttered his assent while Ulfric just stared at the execution grounds.

"Woah, hold!" The driver commanded the horses to stop. Imperial guards rushed forward to escort the prisoners out of the wagon. As Art looked around he saw that there were two other wagons, both packed with Stormcloaks.

"This many Stormcloaks would allow themselves to be captured?" He asked rhetorically.

"No, this many Nords would die for Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King of Skyrim!" Ralof cried over the crowd, resulting in roars of approval.

"Hail Ulfric! The true High King"

"Hail Ulfric!"

"Hail!"

"SILENCE."

The voice echoed over the Stormcloaks, silencing them. Art looked around and saw that it had come from the man on the wall, the one the driver had referred to as General Tulius.

"Hadvar, get these prisoners organized and prepared for execution!"

"Yes sir! Prisoners, this way!"

Art turned and faced the man who had spoken, and saw an Imperial soldier, with shoulder length brown hair, holding a quill and a list of names.

"Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm. Step forward" he ordered.

Jarl Ulfric stepped forward calmly. The soldier named Hadvar just pointed him towards the execution block. Ulfric stared at him for a moment, then followed where he pointed.

"Ralof of Riverwood" the soldier called next.

"Hadvar my old friend!" Called the blonde Nord. "Funny to meet again in a place like this!"

"To the block you traitor" Hadvar ordered. "Sovengard awaits" he said, his tone mocking.

"Lokir of Rorikstead. Step forward."

"Please, you need to believe me, I'm not a Stormcloak! I'm just a horse thief!" Lokir pleaded with the soldier, but the soldier showed no compassion on his face.

"To the block friend" was his only response.

"No! You can't! I'm no traitor!" Lokir took off running, trying to escape the main square and make it to the gate. The Imperial archers leveled their bows before he even made it halfway though, and their arrows made short work of him.

"See what happens to those that try to escape?" Hadvar said. He then turned to look at Art. "Artoov?" He looked concerned. He checked his list. "Captain, this one isn't on the list!"

"Too bad! They're all going to the block!" a strong female voice responded. It came from a burly Nord woman, wearing the Legionnaire amour of a Captain.

"Aye Captain. I'm sorry Artoov, I wish you hadn't gotten caught up in this." Hadvar pointed him to the block, a glimmer of remorse in his eye. Art followed where he was pointing, and joined the other prisoners gathered around the block.

"Today we commit these souls to Sovengard." There was a priestess at the front of the crowd reading the prisoners their last rights. "By Akatosh, Diabella, Arkay…"

"Yeah, yeah. We get it. Let's hurry this up! The gods are waiting for me." One Stormcloak soldier pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and came to stand just in front of the block.

"As it please you," the priestess said. She stepped aside for the headsman, who pushed the prisoner to his knees, head of the block. He raised his axe above his head…

…and it fell on the Stormcloak, cutting through his neck with ease.

"A brave man" Ralof whispered beside him.

"Next! The wood elf!" the female Captain ordered.

"Good luck friend." Ralof said.

Art stepped up to the block, wondering how in the hell his life had come to this when just this morning it was going so well. As he stepped up to the block, he uttered a silent prayer to no god in particular.

"Get down" the headsman ordered, roughly pushing him to the ground. Artoov put his head to the block, looking up past the headsman into the sky beyond. His thoughts drifted to his parents who he would soon be joining, and his younger sister Arysse, left behind to take care of herself. He only hoped that she wasn't among the crowd watching the executions.

As the headsman lifted his axe, Artoov saw a flicker of something black on the horizon. Something flying came over the mountains, and headed straight towards Helgen. It was large and black, and it was coming in very fast. As the headsman axe reached its apex, the flying beast crashed into the tower next to the square, causing a shockwave that knocked the headsman off balance. His axe came crashing down just next to Art's head.

All eyes turned to face the beast. They crowd began screaming, and Art heard children crying.

"DRAGON" someone shouted.

Then the world exploded.


	3. Escape

**Chapter 3: Escape**

"Get up Elf, we need to move!" Art looked around dazed to see Ralof of Riverwood standing over him. Most of the town was burning, and the execution grounds were littered with dead Stormcloaks and Imperials alike.

"I said move!" Ralof roughly grabbed him by his bicep and hauled him to his feet. Art stumbled at first, but quickly gained his balance. "This way!" Ralof shouted, gesturing to an old watchtower. Art ran behind him, easily keeping up with the larger man.

They made it into the tower just in time, the dragon had returned for another pass at the square. The ground erupted into fire where moments ago they had been standing.

There was a group of Stormcloaks in the tower. The Jarl was among them, ungagged and unbound. Some of them had even managed to acquire weapons, most likely from the slain Imperials.

"Jarl Ulfric, what's happening? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked.

The Jarl simply looked at him and replied with, "Legends don't burn down villages."

Ralof was silent for a moment, then "We need to get out of here."

"The only way out of here is up" offered one of the Stormcloaks.

"Then up it is. Elf, you're with me. If you're lucky and follow my lead you'll get out of this alive." Ralof began making his way up the stairs, and Art had no choice but to follow him, still bound. Ralof was in front when all of a sudden the dragon's head came crashing through the wall of the tower, knocking him down the stairs. The dragon filled the stairwell ahead of him with fire so hot that Art couldn't even breathe, then it retreated.

Art looked around for Ralof, and saw him struggling to his feet at the base of the stairs. "Go!" he shouted, "Before that beast returns!"

Art decided to heed his advice, and continued up the stairs. The hole the dragon had created was only a few feet higher than the next roof over. The only problem was that said roof was ablaze. Art steeled himself, said a quick prayer to the Eight Divines then jumped. He landed on his feet, as Wood Elves are prone to do. Unfortunately what he landed on was burning straw, which couldn't support him. The roof collapsed under him, dropping him into the burning room below. Before he even had time to try and get back up, the floor under him collapsed too, dropping him into a burning pile of rubble in the bottom floor of the house.

Art laid there, dazed and trapped by a wooden beam that had pinned his leg. He tried to call out for help, but the smoke of the room had coated his throat, making it difficult to speak, let alone yell.

"Help" he wheezed. "Heeeeelp!" He was sent into a fit of coughing, unable to breathe.

"Don't worry Art, I've got you." A pair of strong hands lifted the beam off of his leg, and pulled him to his feet. The man wrapped Art's arm around his shoulders and helped him out the door and into the fresh air.

Art collapsed into the ground in another coughing fit, but the fresh air made short work of this one. When he had finished he looked up at his savoir, and saw Hadvar standing there.

"Y'all right Artoov?" He asked, genuinely concerned. Hadvar was always genuinely concerned for the people of Helgen, and had always had a soft spot for Artoov. He did all he could to help them, or at least all his orders would allow him to do. Hadvar was a man of duty. He lived, breathed and would, eventually, die for the Empire.

"Yeah, I'm alright Hadvar." Art responded. As he looked around more he saw an older man and a child standing behind Hadvar. Obviously Art wasn't the only one he had saved today.

"Good. I have orders to get civilians to the keep. All of you keep your heads down and follow me." Hadvar began jogging along one of the inner walls of Helgen, keeping close to the wall and out of sight of the dragon that was circling above.

They passed by a group of Imperial archers, who were doing their best to bring the dragon down.

"Hadvar! Get those civilians to safety!" It was the voice of the man on the wall, the General.

"Yes sir General Tulius! Civilians, to the keep. This way!" Hadvar broke into a full sprint towards the keep, which the old man and the small child struggled to keep up with. Above them the dragon had stopped circling and was coming in to deal with the archers that had been pestering them, and Art and the others were directly in his path.

"Hurry!" Hadvar shouted, struggling to open the keep door. Behind Art the child tripped and fell, and the old man stopped to pick him up. Art was well ahead of both of them now. Above him he heard a roar, and fire rained from the sky. He heard screams but he didn't stop running until he made it through the partially open door, and to Hadvar who was waiting inside.

"Where are the others?" He asked

Art looked at him, shaking his head. "I-I don't think they made it."

"By Ysmir's beard!" Hadvar shook his head, then headed to the open keep door. "You stay here, I need to go join in the resistance!"

"It's suicide to go back out there!" Art yelled.

"It's also my duty." Hadvar stared at him long and hard after that. The seconds his gaze was on him felt like hours.

"Ok" Art said, "Just don't, uh, just don't get yourself killed ok?" Hadvar just smiled and nodded. He walked to the keep door.

"Close this behind me" he said. And with that he stepped back into the battle. Art hurried to close the door behind Hadvar, and as soon as he did the din from outside died out. He had forgotten what quiet sounded like, and he took a moment to enjoy it.

It didn't last long however. He heard a crashing sound down the hall, and a second later Ralof burst into the room. Ralof saw him, and hurried over to him.

"Here, let me cut you loose. We don't have much time before they catch up." Ralof pulled a dagger from his tunic and cut the ropes that bound Art's hands.

"Before who gets here?" Art asked, concerned.

"The Imperials!" Ralof responded. "Did you think we were getting out of here without a fight?"

"Uh, see, I'm not so sure-" Art's words were cut off by the two Imperials that burst into the room. The leader was the female Captain from the executions, the follower looked to be a recruit.

"There he is!" The Captain shouted, "and he has backup!"

"By the Eight," Art cursed.

Ralof drew his sword and charged the Captain, who side stepped him and moved towards Art, leaving Ralof for her companion. The Captain lunged at him, bringing her sword down to strike at his head. Art back stepped, narrowly avoiding the slash.

"Listen lady, I don't want to fight!" Art quickly glanced around looking for a weapon, but spotted nothing.

"Silence Stormcloak!" The Captain lunged at him again, this time with a stab aimed at his stomach. Art deftly sidestepped it, and delivered a solid punch to her face. The Imperial Captain stumbled backwards, but quickly regained her composure.

"Heh," she laughed as she wiped the blood from her face. She adopted a lower stance, clearly waiting for Art to strike next. He didn't disappoint her. He charged at her screaming, dodging under the swipe she took at him, and tackled her to the ground. They went down together, but she used the momentum of their fall to throw Art off of her. He sprawled out next to her on the ground. He sword skittered along the ground to the other side of the room, where Ralof and the other soldier were fighting. Art's eyes followed it briefly, but then the Captain was on top of him, strangling him.

Art's hands slapped uselessly against her helmet as she choked the life out of him, and his vision began to blur. He quickly jabbed his thumb into her eye, which caused her grip to loosen. He took this chance to roll over and assume the dominant position. He didn't hold it long however, as she threw him off of her with the momentum.

Art scrambled to his feet before she could, the advantage of not wearing armor. Before she could stand he heard Ralof shout "Elf!" Art turned to see the Captain's sword flying through the air towards him. He deftly grabbed it from the air, positioned it in his hand and struck at the Captain in one fluid motion.

His slash connected at her neck, slitting her throat. Her eyes went wide as she began choking on her own blood, and she fell to the ground. In moments she went still.

Art stared at her corpse, shocked. He had never killed a person before. Hunting game was one thing, but this made him feel sick.

"You sure know how to handle yourself Elf," Ralof said. "The rebellion could use more men like you."

Art tuned to look at him, and saw that the other Imperial was dead too.

"Looks like you can handle yourself too." Art still wasn't feeling completely himself, but he knew he had to get a move on before more Imperials showed up. If he couldn't explain to them he wasn't a rebel before, he doubted they would believe him now.

"This way, we'll have to find a way out further into the keep." Ralof picked up the dead Imperial's sword, and sheathed it in his belt. "Follow me."

They headed deeper into the keep, keeping their eyes and ears open for more Imperials. As they approached the top of a staircase, Ralof held his arm out to stop him. Art listened closely, and could hear voices coming from the room below.

"A dragon? Here at Helgen? Are you mad, or is your mead addled brain playing tricks on you again? The dragons are long dead." The voice sounded nasally and a bit pompous.

"I swear, I saw it with mine own eyes! A great fire breathing lizard!" The second voice sounded deeper, like it was coming from a larger man. "We need to leave, now!"

"Fine, fine. Just allow me to pack my potions, then we can escape through the caves."

"Caves huh?" Ralof whispered. "Sounds like our way out of here."

Art nodded his assent. Ralof began silently making his way down the steps, and Art followed. Ralof unsheathed his sword as he went. At the bottom of the steps he looked over his shoulder and gave Art some hand signals that he didn't fully understand, but he got the gist of it. More killing. Ralof charged into the room, yelling a war cry. Art followed him, evaluating the situation.

There were two men in the room. One of them was in the standard Imperial armor, the other was garbed in the robes of an Imperial mage. The soldier was moving to stop Ralof, but Art knew he had to attack the mage before he could get a spell off.

He charged the mage, sword ready to plunge into his stomach. The mage turned towards him, flames in his hand. The fireball he threw at Art flew narrowly by his head, burning some of his hairs. Art slammed into him, his blade plunging straight into his gut. The mage went down, Art's blade sticking out of him.

Art heard a crash from the other side of the room, and saw the Imperial collapse to the ground. Ralof pulled his sword out of his gut and wiped it on his tunic.

"Damn, this is fun!" He turned to face Art. "Damn Elf, you are much better at fighting than you look!"

"Beginners luck, I guess," Art shrugged. "Come on, we should really get going."

"Right." Ralof turned towards the exit to the room. "The caves must be this way."

Art pulled his blade out of the mage and reluctantly wiped it on his tunic. They hurried to the exit, and soon found the caves that the mage had mentioned.

"Come on, we must be close!" Art hurried down the tunnels. Soon he could feel cold air on his face. He kept running, and soon he could see sunlight. After about another minute he was out of the caves, and in the open.

"We made it!" Art turned to look at Ralof, who did not seem nearly as excited as he did. "What's your problem?"

"Guess I'm just used to this by now, minus the dragon that is" he joked. "Come on, Riverwood is just down the road from her. My sister lives there and I'm sure she'll be willing to provide a hot meal and a warm bed."

"I don't have anywhere better to be, let's go before that dragon comes back." The headed off down the road to Riverwood, keeping their eyes on the road and the skies.


	4. Short Walk, Big Talk

**Chapter 4: Short Walk, Big Talk**

"So, what now?" Art asked. They had been walking for about half an hour, and were almost to Riverwood.

"What do you mean? We are going to Riverwood."

"I meant after. Like, what's going to happen to me?" The Empire probably wasn't Art's biggest fan. He doubted he was going to be able to go back to living in the Empire controlled sections of Skyrim.

"Haha, worried about the Empire huh?" Ralof gave a hearty chuckle. "Yeah, I bet they aren't too fond of you, but after today I think they probably have bigger worries on their mind."

That was true. Art was willing to bet that the Empire would focus more energy into an escaped Jarl and a dragon attack then they would into an escaped Wood Elf. But still, he doubted returning to Helgen would be an option anytime soon, which meant finding Arysse would have to wait.

"Ok, well what's next for you then?" Art asked.

Ralof laughed. "It's probably back to Windhelm for me! Jarl Balgruf is going to want to regroup after this. This attack has probably thrown the Empire off balance. This could be the chance the Stormcloaks have been waiting for."

Art said nothing, and instead pondered this. Ralof could very well be right, and this could be the turning point for the Stormcloaks, depending on how Jarl Balgruf handled this. The Empire was spread thin as it is, what with the Thalmor and the Stormcloaks. Now that dragons had been thrown into the mix the Empire could very well collapse under its own weight.

"Don't worry friend, I'm sure you can find work in Riverwood. I know my sister will have no shortage of jobs to do." Ralof let out another little chuckle. "Speaking of which, we're almost there."

As they rounded the next bend Riverwood came into sight. It was a quaint little town next to a river, which powered a small wood mill. It had a few small stone walls and a couple of guards to offer it some protection, but the main protection it had was being a lazy little town in the middle of a valley at the south of Skyrim. That tended to keep it out of the public eye.

As they entered the town a woman came running towards them. She was a Nord, wearing a simple dress and a stock of hair as blonde as Ralof's.

"Ralof! What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to Eastmarch with the Jarl?" She looked at Artoov. "Who's this?"

"Slow down Gerdur. I can only answer one question at a time. To start, I was heading to Eastmarch but we were captured."

"Captured? By the Imperials? How did you escape?"

"Again with the questions. Aye, it was the Imperials that captured us. As for my escape, it was greatly facilitated by him," he gestured at Art, "as well as a dragon."

"A dragon… by Ysmir, the murmurings were true." Her brow furrowed as she pondered the new information. "Ralof you must go to Whiterun, someone must inform the Jarl!"

"I cannot, I'm afraid. I must return to Windhelm and regroup with Ulfric. We'll need to plan our next move. My friend here may be able to help you out, however."

Gerdur turned towards Art. "Oh yes, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

"Now that you mention it, I don't think we have either." Ralof chuckled. "Guess a dragon attack leaves little time for pleasantries."

"My name is Artoov Granaen. Art for short."

"Well Art, Riverwood would greatly appreciate it if you could help us in our time of need."

"I'd be happy too, but maybe after a quick rest and a warm meal. Running from dragons and Imperials leaves a man with quite an appetite."

"Of course. You're welcome to our home, and everything in it. I'll take your gear to the blacksmith to have some work done while you rest." Gerdur held her hands out to take his gear.

Art unclipped his sheathe from his belt and handed over his sword. Gerdur took it, then gestured for Art to follow her.

"This way. I'll put some soup on while you rest, then when you're ready I'll point you to Whiterun."

Art followed along behind her, looking forward to his first rest in what felt like years.


End file.
